


not over yet

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for Mission 51/cut mission/Kingdom of the Flies, Suicide Attempt, mgsv spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm scared of him," said Piggy, "and that's why I know him. If you're scared of someone you hate him but you can't stop thinking about him. You kid yourself he's all right really, an' then when you see him again; it's like asthma an' you can't breathe...” <br/>-- William Golding, <i>Lord of the Flies.</i></p>
<p>Mission 51 from Eli's point of view; spoilers inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not over yet

He was dreaming; no, not a dream. A memory.

_He was waiting. He knew they’d come, he knew his father would be here. He had to be. They’d taken his Metal Gear, of course they would come after it. They wanted it back, and they obviously wouldn’t give into his demand. So Father would come, and he’d end him himself. End his own tainted legacy. Free himself._

_He shifted, standing in the cockpit of Sahelanthropus and stretching, coughing a little and scratching his neck. The mask and helmet he was wearing itched, and that and the suit were uncomfortably warm in the African heat. But he didn’t want to get infected…no, he already was. He knew that, accepted it with the detachment of someone who really didn’t at all. He coughed again, and then paused, glancing up at a glint on a cliff across from where he was._

_The next thing he knew, Tretij was in front of him, and a thought was half-formed to ask ‘what’ when a burst of gunfire like miniature explosions sounded, and the psychic boy lifted his arms to shield him from the bullets. He threw his own arms over his face, the fire and light and sound overwhelming. He’d been shot at before, but this was– this was– eyes peered over his arms, a child’s terror settling into his stomach as he saw rockets– RPGs– fire off, spiraling towards him, and he bit back a scream, ducking his head down again as they went off feet from his face, the only thing between him and death a tiny little boy like a shadow, fire harmlessly swirling around him._

_There was a lull in the gunfire, and he shook himself off, pointing at the XOF men accusingly, trying not to let his hand shake. They wouldn’t, they wouldn’t. He had power, he had Sahelanthropus. They wouldn’t kill him. They would be dead._

_He jumped into the cockpit, the hatch closing on him, and he grinned under the mask as he fired it up, the men running, bullets bouncing off steel harmlessly. He’ll kill them, he’ll kill them._

_Wait– was that– there he was. He brought the machine to a halt, lowering the cockpit to face him properly, the hatch opening so green eyes could meet blue. His father. His father, right where he wanted him._

_“I knew you’d be through here!” He said, triumph in his voice.  
_

_The man shook his head, and he hated the sound of his voice; kind, almost. A warm sort of scolding, concerned and exasperated. “You’re not a kid anymore,” he admitted with a huff of breath. “You can call your own shots.” A pause. “But– at this rate, you’ll be dead before you have a chance.”_

_He’d be dead sooner or later, anyway, he thought with a snort. “I’m free to die however I wish,” he told his father. After all, if he couldn’t choose how to live, he can choose how to die. When and where. “Yes…free.”_

_The cockpit slid closed, and the Metal Gear stood, clicking its guns into place. Free…yes, when he killed his father, he’d be free. Killed his father, killed Cipher…he’ll kill them all. And then he’ll be free. Free from his fate, written for him before he was ever born. Tear apart the pages and start over, write it himself._

_But fate seemed to have other plans, he realized, a knot starting to settle in his stomach as the great metal beast toppled, smoking, to the ground. The cockpit groaned open, and he scrabbled at the edges, fingers slipping. His head pounded, and the next coughing fit shook his body and tore at his throat. His body hurt, back and limbs sore from being knocked around as Sahelanthropus took fire, and his vision swam. He managed to slide out partway, but a burst of gunfire from soldiers he didn’t see made him lose his grip, and he bounced out of the cockpit, rolling down the side and hitting the ground with a splash of shallow water, helmet bouncing against rock._

_He yelped, his vision blurring, and he rolled onto his back, unable to get up. His limbs felt weak and wobbly, like they were made of paper, and everything hurt. He blinked the stars out of his eyes to see two men above him, masks blank and XOF stamped stark on their shoulders. One handed the other his machine gun, and drew a silenced pistol, leveling it at his head._

_He stared down the barrel, heartbeat thundering in his ears like a stampede on the savanna, eyes wide. Was this it? Was this how he died? No, no, no. Not like this. This wasn’t his choice. He couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t– no. No, no, no. Tretij, help, Tretij, please, he begged to the presence in his mind, but he didn’t know if the other boy heard him._

_His lips parted, and he wasn’t even sure if he even said it, but the word that slipped out was soft and terrified, not the voice of a soldier but the voice of a little boy. “Father…” He whispered, for one heartbeat too scared to hate, too scared for anger._

_Then the two men fell with a one-two bang and he let out a breath. Bangbang bang, more fell, and he started to sit up, slipping slightly in the water with his shaking arms, watching the XOF men and his father exchange fire. A grenade went off and he turned away, eyes shut against the blast. More gunfire, and he looked up, head halfway to turning when he felt something hit his chest._

_Oh. Oh, he was shot._

_Did someone scream? Oh, that was him._

_He felt himself fall backwards, hitting the ground, but the hurt as his head rattled in his helmet and bounced on the rock beneath him was nothing compared to his chest. He couldn’t breathe, his vision swam and blurred, it felt like something had exploded in his chest, all he could hear was the thunder of his heartbeat and his own quick sharp gasps of air, peppered with whimpers._

_He heard someone else, very far away, whisper – or was he shouting – ‘no’, but he couldn’t, didn’t recognizes it. No? No, what? Oh, he hurt so much. Was someone hovering over him? He smelled cigar smoke and blood and gunpowder through the mask, felt hands on the sides of his head then his shoulders, picking him up gently. They were warm, whoever it was – he could barely see, his head pounded so bad – and he felt their heartbeat through their uniform, steady and strong. It was comforting, almost. Like a feeling he didn’t know how to name._

_His eyes slid closed, and they reopened again when someone pulled he helmet and mask off, and he blinked at the light when the darkened lenses were removed. He saw his father, saw that Ocelot man, saw soldiers. One of them pushed his father away – why was his father leaning so close, why was his father frowning like that? – and unzipping his suit._

_The sight of the vest seemed to relax them, and it reassured him, too, despite the ache in his chest. He was okay. He was okay–_

_He wasn’t okay. As the soldiers scrambled back, he could see his father staring at him in horror, and all he could do was laugh amid a burst of coughing. His father crouched, hand on his shoulder, and he glared up at him defiantly._

_“I was created by Cipher,” he told his father, watching his expression shift, Ocelot’s hands clench. “And I was the flaw. My fate was written in my genes. I’m the loser.” He spat the word, flinching and panting between words. “ **You**. All because of you.” He lifted a hand, the limb shaking, and all he could do was stare at the gloved fingers. _

_“_ _I’m not me. I’m just a copy of you.” His father looked away, Ocelot looked down. “I will surpass my father…destroy my father… Destroy **you**.” His hand came up to grab his father’s mechanical arm, fingers pressing against cold metal. “I’ll kill all of Cipher. I’ll destroy your precious world!”_

_His hand slipped off his father’s arm as Ocelot gestured for them to leave, and he coughed, gasping, barely hearing them talk about sanitizing, napalm. “Live,” he mumbled at his father, hearing the click of a gun. “Live!” If he had to die, if he was going to die, then he wanted his father to live. If he was going to die, then at least if Father lived, he’d remember him._

_He looked up at his father, who was pointing a gun at him._

_“You’re one hell of a soldier,” his father told him, and even as part of him warmed at the praise, part of him clenched in anger.  
_

_“I will kill you!” He snarled, bristling. He didn’t want praise or pity! ~~He did~~. He wanted– he wanted– he wanted freedom.   
_

_His father lowered the gun, ejecting the magazine. “That’s right,” he said softly, removing the bullet left in the chamber. “Don’t blame yourself. Blame me.” He chambered the single bullet again, clicking the slide back in place and turning away._

_Unbidden, his hand came up, reaching for his father’s back. He wasn’t a soldier anymore, wasn’t a clone, wasn’t angry and full of hate. He was just a scared child reaching for his father._

_The man turned back slightly, crouching to place the gun on the ground before turning away again, each footstep as he grew more and more distant sounding like a drumbeat, a thunderclap._

_He fell forward to his hands and knees, vision blurring and throat burning with the parasite in him, lungs heavy and thick and breathing hard, and scrabbled for the gun._

_He’s on his chest, on the ground like an animal, one hand holding the shaking gun pointing at his father’s retreating back. He could…he could…he could…_

_He let the gun fall, slowly pushing himself to his feet as the copters all leave, Sahelanthropus creaking and groaning as they towed it into the air. He…he was scared, he noticed, in a sort of detached way. He was so scared he wasn’t anymore; like everything was distant and far away, like it was someone else who was scared, someone else who was holding a gun in a shaking hand. But it was him, wasn’t it? It was him, standing there as the helicopters grew smaller, eyes distant and his lungs and throat burning with parasites, legs trembling and chest throbbing._

_His head bowed a moment, and then he looked up again, and doesn’t look away from the departing soldiers as the gun comes up, and cold metal presses against a pounding temple, and he heard a click as he removed the safety. He didn’t look away…he wouldn’t._

_He won’t die any other way but this one. If he’s going to go, he’ll choose his own way out. If it’s this or any other option, he’ll go this way. At least his last action will be a choice he made on his own, not one dictated by his fate, his genes. His hand was steady, his eyes calm, and his finger slowly tightened on the trigger–_

_And then stopped as he heard a rasping breath behind him. His arm was pushed down by a force not his own, and Tretij was in front of him, hidden eyes meeting his own; he’s not looking, not really; he still felt like he was someone else, eyes far far away, and he distantly saw Tretij raising a hand draped in black sleeve, and his head tilted back on its own, and something PULLED—–_

_And he saw something writhe in the air, a pulsing mass of something, for a moment, and then Tretij tossed it to the side, and he can breathe. He coughed and gasped, turning to watch the boy float by him, turning fully as they both watched the planes approach, napalm ready to drop._

_Tretij lifted his hand again, and beneath the sleeve he knows his palm is open, and it’s with a faint smile tugging at lips that he took Tretij's hand and arm, and his feet left the ground and the air shifted around them, and they’re somewhere else, the explosions a distant rumble, and his feet hit the ground and he staggered forward and fell to his knees, pushing himself up and back to his feet, heavy steps as he walked again, knowing Tretij is behind him, knowing he always will be._

_It’s not over yet…_

* * *

He wakes up with a gasp, in a cold sweat – he feels like a rubber band just snapped, and that feeling that he was someone else is gone. The fear and what happened on that little island finally hits him and he lets out a noise like a wounded animal, curling up small in the abandoned hut he and Tretij had found, shaking like a leaf.

He whimpered, pressing his hands to his face – he was cold, having wiggled out of his suit, only in his shorts, boots, gloves, and bulletproof vest, and he felt sick, his stomach roiling as delayed terror twisted his insides. He almost died. _He almost died. **He almost died**_. He whimpers again, curling tighter. He almost died. He was infected, he was shot at, he was shot, he almost shot himself…oh god oh _god_.

He feels a little presence touch his mind then, and it’s warm and friendly, and a tiny thin body presses against his, skinny arms wrapping around him and gas mask shifting around and then– is it  _gone?_ He rolls over and he sees a face his age, pale blue eyes ringed with shadow and ghost-pale skin covered in freckles…well, the parts of it that aren’t covered in old scarred burns, which is half of it. Tretij’s eyes are watching him, something like fear in them, and he just pulls the other boy close. 

He doesn’t care that Tretij has a messed up face. Tretij’s here, and his friend, and Tretij saved him from dying. Tretij saved him three times over, from himself, from the parasite, from the napalm. And Tretij’s still here, Tretij didn’t leave.

The two boys fall asleep tangled up together, dirty tanned limbs and black sleeves, red hair and blond hair mixing as foreheads touch.

It wasn’t over, not at all, and whatever they did next, they’d do it at least together. And as long as that was that case, he wouldn’t be afraid.


End file.
